


To Provide

by Laylah



Category: Infinite Undiscovery
Genre: Kink Meme, Loyalty, M/M, Podfic Available, Pre-Canon, Service Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-27
Updated: 2010-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Edward wondered if he felt too fondly; sometimes he was nearly sure of it. But then Sigmund would offer him a quiet smile, or he would be able to see the faint easing of tension in Sigmund's shoulders because of something he had done, and those concerns would pale in comparison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Provide

**Author's Note:**

> Podfic read by Rhea available here: http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1080564.html

It had always been likely that Edward would find himself serving his betters. That was the way, for meages with aspirations to nobility: they couldn't truly rule, since that was the aristos' role, but they could assist. They could be regents but not kings, vassals but not lords. His father had insisted, when he was a boy, that it was a worthy role; Edward had doubted him but had tried to believe it. But then there was Sigmund.

Following Sigmund was nothing like he had expected -- was so far from that bloodless contractual arrangement that Edward had no words for it. _Were_ there other words for it? Some other name, to make it clear that not only his honor but also his heart kept him here? He could hardly ask Eugene about something like this, could hardly put it into words himself, but he _felt_ it: the deep satisfaction of crafting a new blade that would be for Sigmund's own use, or the calm rightness of anticipating something he needed well enough to provide it immediately, or the warm pleasure of being the one he chose for important missions.

Sometimes Edward wondered if he felt too fondly; sometimes he was nearly sure of it. But then Sigmund would offer him a quiet smile, or he would be able to see the faint easing of tension in Sigmund's shoulders because of something he had done, and those concerns would pale in comparison. Sigmund had saved his life, and repaying that debt was both honorable and...a source of joy. Perhaps it was not the service he had been born to, but so be it.

This evening they were camped near the border between Burguss and the dunes, in the lee of a scattering of dark granite boulders. They had engaged the Order's forces the day before, and Edward passed a fair portion of the evening repairing Sigmund's armor -- he was not merely a commander, but a hero, and had seen some of the heaviest fighting of anyone in the Force. Making the repairs was tricky work, by fading light and with a scarcity of materials at hand, but Edward persevered. Veros had blessed him with the talent; he would make good use of it for his lord's sake. There was no use in wishing now for better steel, though he'd keep it in mind the next time they reached a city large enough for trade. For now, he did what he could, coaxing the iron back into shape, shoring up its defenses where they would be most desperately needed.

When he finished, it was late enough that the regulars were setting up watches for the night. Sigmund had already retired to his tent, but only recently; it shouldn't be too late to disturb him. Edward knelt outside it. "My lord?"

"Come in," Sigmund answered.

Edward ducked inside, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dark; Sigmund had one lamp still burning, but low, and the light was faint compared with the moon outside. "I've finished with your armor," he said, setting it down to one side.

"Thank you," Sigmund said softly. The lamplight threw stark shadows over his face, made him look tired and hollow. He had removed his greaves and boots, his surcoat and gloves; his shirt hung open. He seemed so vulnerable, so worn, Edward felt as though he should avert his eyes.

"Is there...anything else I can provide for you, my lord?" he asked.

"You fought as hard as any of us," Sigmund demurred. "You must need your rest as well."

"I'm fine," Edward insisted; it was perhaps an overstatement, but he was nowhere near as worn down as Sigmund seemed now. "And besides that, you are the Liberator." Any of the rest of them could be replaced, but Sigmund was the only one who could cut the chains. The Force -- the _world_ \-- needed him.

Sigmund sighed, a quietly resigned sound. "I am," he said. "Sometimes it is a heavy name to bear."

"Please, my lord," Edward said. "Only tell me how I can help you."

For a moment, Sigmund only watched him thoughtfully; then he asked, "May I borrow the strength of your hands?"

"Of course," Edward said. "It would be my honor."

"Come here, then," Sigmund said, and stretched out on his stomach across his bedroll.

"Yes, my lord," Edward said. He crawled over and straddled Sigmund's thighs, reaching out to begin working the stiffness from Sigmund's shoulders.

For someone so slight of stature, Sigmund was exceptionally well-built; his back and shoulders felt muscular and powerful under Edward's hands. They were taut, now, as well, but as Edward kneaded them the tension slowly eased. Edward wondered whether he laid hands on Sigmund's lunaglyph as he worked -- the lunaglyph that Sigmund famously did not use, that he never showed off; of all the members of the Force, only Eugene might know where he bore it or what its gifts were.

It was a humbling thought, to know he had come so far on mortal power alone; the strength of his will had to be incredible. And here he was allowing Edward to tend to him, relaxing into Edward's hands, sighing with pleasure at Edward's touch. It was an honor to be able to care for him.

When Edward had worked his way down from the nape of Sigmund's neck to the small of his back, Sigmund reached his hands above his head to stretch, catlike, lean and graceful. "Thank you," he said. "I should send you away, so that you get enough rest yourself and I do not abuse your generosity."

"You could do no such thing," Edward said. He could feel the rise of Sigmund's shoulders as he drew breath to argue, and went on hastily: "I want to care for you. I want to see you happy. If there is anything more I can do for you, please, tell me what it is."

Sigmund shifted his weight, and Edward rose up on his knees to give him room to roll over. "Anything?" Sigmund asked, meeting Edward's eyes steadily. The gold of hte lamp shone in the black depths of his pupils.

"Anything in my power," Edward promised.

Sigmund reached for Edward's hand, pulling it down between them, pressing it flat against the bulge in his trousers. Edward's eyes went wide, and he stilled momentarily with surprise -- this, also, was something Sigmund seemed to abstain from, nearly as fervently as the use of his lunaglyph. He could have had any number of lovers before they left Burgusstadt, and it was obvious that Aya was willing to bed him, but he never took her up on it. So why --

"I fear I have asked too much after all," Sigmund said gently, withdrawing his hand.

"No!" Edward protested. "You've done no such thing." He ducked his head. "Please don't take my surprise to mean I am unwilling."

The expression on Sigmund's face was hard to read -- relief, perhaps, or gratitude -- fondness, Edward wanted to say. "Then --"

"However you would have me," Edward told him. "Only show me what you want of me and it's yours."

Sigmund reached up to cup his face in one hand, and Edward leaned into the caress. His heart ached. To be trusted so far -- to have Sigmund ask him for something like this -- Sigmund's fingertips brushed his lips and Edward let them part, took Sigmund's fingers on his tongue. They tasted of leather, and Sigmund's cock pulsed beneath his hand. He closed his mouth around them carefully and sucked, and Sigmund groaned appreciation.

Edward pulled back. His heart beat fast, as though he faced a battle instead of simply the chance to better serve. "Would you have my mouth, my lord?"

Sigmund shuddered, as if the words alone were enough to affect him bodily. He nodded sharply, his hands fumbling with the laces of his trousers and folding fabric back to bare his cock. "Please," he said, and the hoarseness of his voice took Edward's breath away.

"My pleasure," Edward said. He shifted back on Sigmund's bedroll and leaned down. Sigmund's cock lay stiff against his belly, the foreskin drawn back, the crown flushed dark. He smelled of sweat and a warm, earthy musk. Edward opened his mouth to take him in -- and found he had to pull back twice to wet his lips before Sigmund's cock would slide smoothly. It stretched his jaw much further than Sigmund's fingers had, and tasted faintly bitter, but that didn't trouble him:

Sigmund reached down and clutched at his shoulder, held onto him as if he were precious. Edward closed his eyes and focused on his rhythm, on keeping his teeth away from Sigmund's flesh, on swallowing when he reached the deep point of each stroke. With soldiers standing watch outside, neither of them could afford to make noise, but every ragged breath Sigmund drew was praise enough. He tensed and shivered, holding tight as Edward gave him what he needed, and the hot spill of his seed was like his smile, like the ease in his shoulders -- the same warmth behind Edward's ribs, the same grounding comfort: what his lord needed, he could give.


End file.
